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upsidedownwithsteve · 2 years

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Steve Harrington x fem!reader[4.1k] that nick millar line that's like "stop being mean to me i'll fall in love with you." scoops!steve, record store!reader and some weird drabbles about how steve gets flustered i don't like this i'm sorry

Steve knew he was a goner when he spotted you stacking shelves at the record store. He’d asked Eddie your name and the boy had cackled, slapped him on the shoulder and said, ‘Harrington, she’d eat you alive.’

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” Steve had answered.

You wore boots with laces that were never fully tied, fishnet tights, bike shorts and too big T-shirts that served as dresses, gold rings on your fingers and ruby red lipstick on Saturdays.

You looked like trouble, like a whole lot of fun and Steve took Eddie’s warning as a personal challenge.

The first time he spoke to you, it was on his day off and he shoved some dollar bills at Dustin, Lucas and Max, told them to go to the arcade and stay in the arcade.

He found you behind the register, perched on a tall stool and flicking through records, cassettes littering the desk and your foot tap, tap, tapping against the wooden legs. Your store was quieter than the rest of the mall, so Steve tried to act casual, thanked everything holy that he wasn’t wearing his scoops uniform and browsed the boxes of music.

He kept letting his eyes flicker to you, the store dimly lit and smelling like old books and smoke, a stark contrast to the sweet sugar and bright lights of Scoops Ahoy.

It was nice, Steve noted, cosy, warm, a strange kind of quiet despite the music that played overhead. He didn’t even own a record player, not anymore, not since he’d been gifted a shiny new Walkman for his Christmas after his parents were out of town on his birthday.

But still, there was something calming about thumbing through the sleeves, some pre owned and fraying at the edges, arranged in their own box that was labelled ‘already loved.’ The handwriting was neat and romantic looking, big swirls and loops in the L’s and Steve wondered if it was yours, if you were sweeter than your big doc martens suggested.

But then he took his choices to the cash desk and you looked up from the price labels you were sticking to each record, a smile that was like sunshine and sin on your lips. You looked him up and down, one eyebrow raised and now that he was closer, Steve could see a gold hoop in one nostril.

He swallowed, tried to say something cool, something flirty, something alluring, but his throat was sticky like honey and he was suddenly speechless. Steve Harrington had lines, he knew how to flirt - sometimes it didn’t work, he could admit that now - but not a single word came from his mouth.

You were really something. A smirk rather than a smile, jewellery making you glitter, eyes lighting up at the sight of him and Steve felt like he had a neon sign above him, a shiny big arrow saying ‘fresh meat.’

He suddenly knew what Eddie had meant. He was out of his depth.

“Hey, pretty boy.”

God, scratch that, he was drowning.

Your voice was sweet, lined with a laugh, like you knew something he didn’t and Steve Harrington had never been shy in his life but your words had his cheeks tinted pink and he could feel the same heat at the tips of his ears.

“Did you find everything you needed?”

He stuttered, stammered, licked his lips and nodded instead. It was that magic kind of flirting, the kind where no one really spoke but the idea was heavy and thick and tension in it made your head spin. And maybe you weren’t as affected as Steve was, but the boy felt a little giddy with it, eyes nervously dancing between yours and your hands, watching the way you bagged up his records.

He didn’t even know what he’d bought.

But he took the bag from you with a smile that made him look really soft, hand warm as it brushed your own and he didn’t even wait for his change, he just backed out of the store with a dazed look in his eyes and the sound of your laughter following him.

—————

The second time Steve saw you, was half way through his lunch break, his hands full of soda cans and wrapped up sandwiches for himself and Robin, ‘cause there were only so many tubs of rocky road he could have instead of real food.

You were rounding the corner the same time as he was, barely managing to avoid colliding, shoulders bumping and a can of Dr. Pepper falling to the floor and making a break for it. It rolled enough for Steve to deem it a lost cause, telling himself he’d share his drink with Robin instead of trying to juggle it back into his already full arms.

But then you were catching it, wiggling it at him between a finger and a thumb as you carefully tucked it in the free space under his chin. He gaped, realising who he’d bumped into too late. You were a pretty painting, black lines above your lashes all cat like, lips coloured in a soft rosy shade. The sweater you wore was too big, bike shorts barely peeking out from the hem and you made music as you moved, necklaces catching against each other.

You were lovely. But your smile was dangerous.

“Thanks, uh, thank you- for that,” Steve managed, trying to gesture to the soda but almost losing two sandwiches and a bag of chips in the process. “Shit.”

“S’alright,” you told him softly and Steve had almost forgotten what your voice had sounded like, because after the first visit to the record store, he’d been too embarrassed to return.

He’d kept watch from behind the ice cream freezer, sighing over you as he refilled mint chocolate chip and scattered more sprinkles on floor than he did atop of cones. Robin thought it was disgusting.

“Lunch time?” You asked and it was obvious, the way you were making conversation, seemingly actually wanting to talk to him but Steve couldn’t wrap his head around why.

He nodded, too fast, hair flopping into his eyes and he had no free hands to smooth it back. Was he red again? He felt warm. You were smiling, eyes on his, scanning his face, taking in each of his features without any shame, bold in each of your actions.

Fuck. You were really pretty.

“Uh yeah, yeah,” Steve managed, “for me and uh,” he looked back, saw Robin leaning over the cash register with a grin on her lips as she watched on, more than amused. “And uh…”

“Your girlfriend?” You prompted. You sounded intrigued, voice still soft. “The pretty one in the hat?”

“Oh no, god no,” Steve replied and you grinned at how quick he spoke. He shook his head, fumbled another sandwich was still gazing at you from behind his messy hair. “I mean, fuck, she’s pretty and yeah, she’s wearing a hat but— no, not my girlfriend.”

“Oh,” you were smiling, arms crossed as you tried not to full on grin at the way the boy was floundering, trying his best to assure you that his co-worker was definitely not his girlfriend.

“I mean, we’re friends,” he was telling you, “best friends but like, super platonic. So platonic. I’m single.” Steve swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “So single.”

You didn’t miss the little ‘fuck,’ he whispered into the lunch he was still clutching to his chest and his cheeks went from rosy to ruby, a flush across the high points of his face that you would adorable.

You didn’t say anything, not yet, but you leaned a little closer and pushed yourself onto your toes so you could sweep a hand through the front of his hair, pushing back the locks that had fallen into his face.

Steve wondered if he had stopped breathing.

“That’s better,” you hummed and you couldn’t help but huff out a laugh at his stricken expression. He looked panicked in the best way.

Steve nodded and you took it as a thanks because his lips were parted and his brown eyes were turning into honey and he looked a little wrecked. It was fun, you realised, watching the way he reacted to you.

“It’s Steve, right?” You tapped at his name badge, still standing too close for what some people would consider polite but Steve smelled like sugar and mint and the forest, like cedar or pine.

Steve cleared his throat, tried not to stare at your lips when you said his name and he nodded, “yeah, uh— Steve Harrington.”

Another grin from you, wide and bright and fucking magical, because Steve decided that every time you smiled at him he felt like he was turning inside out.

“Okay, Single Steve Harrington—” he cut you off with a groan and it was suddenly your new favourite sound. “—I need to get back to work, enjoy your lunch.”

“Right, yeah, shit,” he winced at the way his voice cracked and Jesus Christ, he thought to himself, what was he? Sixteen again? “Uh, do I get to know your name?” It was a lie. He knew your name. He’d asked Eddie weeks ago.

And you must’ve been thinking the same because you laughed, reallt fucking cutely, Steve noticed, nose scrunched and eyes bright as you said, “don’t play coy, pretty boy, I know who your friends are.”

You left him standing there, cheeks still flushed, soft hair perfectly rumpled from how you’d pushed it back and you couldn’t help yourself. You turned, a head over your shoulder, lashes lowered as you looked him up and down, doing the least you could to try and hide it.

“Hey Steve?”

The boy's head snapped round to you, eyes wide as ever. His pretty face was a question mark.

“Nice shorts.”

—————

The third time, Steve was almost confident enough to say you sought him out.

Because it was a slow Tuesday and the summer outside had reached its peak, the sun warming the mall through the glass roof like a greenhouse, the air stifling and hazy. It was too warm for even ice cream, most of Hawkins had seemed to decide, and even the kids had passed up on free samples in favour of spending a day at the pool.

But there you were, record store lanyard missing from your neck which told Steve it was definitely your day off. And besides, if he happened to have remembered your shifts, well, that was just a coincidence.

You swaned into Scoops with your usual confidence, a glint in your eye and a surprisingly bright sundress on your frame. You were still glittering with jewellery, chains and trinkets on your neck, delicate rings on each finger, tiny gold daisies hanging from your ears. Your dress was a startling red, cherry coloured and all the bare skin on show meant that Steve could see fine black lines of ink peeking out from beneath the cotton.

He smiled at the way you still wore your boots, laces undone and rolled socks peeking out the top. You had spent some time talking between shifts now, “accidentally” bumping into each other when the mall was still closed, early morning starts spent standing in line together for a coffee as Steve tried his damn hardest to remember how to speak in your presence.

It got a little easier and Steve could hold a conversation without his voice cracking, but every now and then he’d spot you already gazing at him and you had a look on your face that could take a man down to his knees.

And god, did you know how good you looked in that dress? Did you understand what you did to him? Steve thought that maybe you did because you were leaning over the counter on your elbows and invading all of his personal space with the smell of your perfume and cocoa butter body lotion.

You tapped out a beat with your fingernails, Ruby red to match your dress, hands dancing in gold, rings that Steve knew woild look so fucking pretty wrapped around his—

“Hey, pretty boy.”

The boy dropped his ice cream scoop and from an empty table behind you both, Robin snorted.

“Hey, hi… hi,” he settled on, ducking behind the counter to retrieve his scoop and he tried not to wince at how decidedly unsmooth he was around you.

He’d panicked to Robin more than enough times about it. How he managed to trip over his words, even his own feet, when he was around you. But, despite his friends usual teasing and unsupportive behaviour when it came to his dating like, she’d surprised him with:

“Well shit, Steve, she keeps coming back, doesn’t she?”

“Hi,” you repeated, grinning. “How’s it going?”

Steve smiled back, wider than he’d have liked, too happy, too pleased that you were here on your day off, in his store, standing talking to him whilst you looked like that.

The hem of your dress swung at your thighs as you tapped your foot to music only you could hear and you were looking up at him with the most wicked expression. Steve had realised you seemed to save those looks for only him, the rest of your time spent in the record store ignoring the boys who tried to chat you up with cheap lines and shit chat.

Steve sighed and looked around the empty store. “It’s going,” he replied. “What’re you doing here? Aren’t you… off today?”

“Keeping tabs?” You grinned and Steve flushed.

It was your favourite thing.

“What? No, no I—” if Steve could get away with volleying a ball of raspberry ripple at Robin right then, he could’ve. She was hiding her face in the pile of delivery notes but he could hear her laughter. “I just— yeah, shit, maybe I am.”

His admission made you preen, straightening up to catch the ends of that stupid, little sailor scarf between your fingers. You lifted one brow, looked at the boy through your lashes and wondered if you listened carefully enough, would you be able to hear the thumpthumpthump of his heart.

Steve was almost certain you would.

“That’s cute,” you mused, sighing dramatically, wistful almost, as you tugged at the scarf. Steve jolted closer, lips parted, eyes hooded as he tried his best to keep his gaze on yours. But your lips were right there. And so were your tits. “It’s a real shame you don’t use that knowledge to work out when to take me out on a date.”

Even Robin stilled.

“A date?” Steve asked and you were so close, closer than you’d ever been ‘cause he could tell your lipgloss was cherry flavoured, he could smell the artificial sweetness, could count the freckles on your nose.

You nodded, smiled, let your eyes flicker down to where he was licking at his lips and you felt the way he sighed. He had a knuckle white grip on his side of the counter, arms flexed as he leaned in, letting you hold him as close to you as you dared.

“Y’know… dinner, maybe a movie, a hot little fumble in the backseat of your car before you kiss me goodnight and go home to take a cold shower?”

“Christ,” Steve breathed and you watched the way he flushed, eyes drooping prettily as he seemingly thought out your scenario. “Yeah— yeah, I can do that, fuck, we can do that.”

The grin that took over your face was more than pretty and Steve was about done for when you finally let go of his sailors scarf, only to reach up and brush back his hair again. He let you, eyes full of sticky fondness, a little awe as your fingertips brushed across the top of his forehead.

“Great,” you told him, backing away, boots scuffing across the parlour tiles. “You can pick me up at eight on Saturday.”

—————

Steve had never been so nervous on a date.

The good kind, an excitement he’d almost forgotten about and he revelled in the way his stomach tumbled, cheeks flush and lips bitten as he waited for you to appear from your front door.

You’d smiled at his shyness, ducked your head in a similar fashion when he told you how pretty you looked and then it was a night of feet touching under the diner table, stealing the crispy fries from his plate and Steve pretending that he cared.

He eventually calmed down enough to talk about everything and anything with you, his job, education, his parents, his friends. And when he’d finished making you laugh like it was his new hobby, you both realised too late that you’d missed the movie.

But you didn’t seem to care, happy to walk shoulder for shoulder with the boy through the emptying mall, watching him with a smile as he worked up enough courage to hold your hand.

You let him, hands tangling, a finger gently prodding his pink cheek and he swatted at you with a smile, a fond roll of his eyes and then that was it.

You didn’t leave his side after that.

The windows of his car were rolled down as he parked up near the water tower, wheat fields and the forest hiding you both from the rest of the down. The summer air smelled sweet, like leftover barbecue smoke and wet grass and Steve had the radio on low as you teased him about his music taste, the way he’d bitten his bottom lip raw from being so close to you.

He could take it better now, your little mean streak, the one that liked to push his buttons and turn him pink. He still flushed when you called him pretty boy, heard his breath hitch when you stretched your bare legs over his, back pressed to the passenger door as you let the wind pick at your hair.

But he got a little braver and let his hands smooth over your shins, eyes flickering from yours to the way your sundress was played messily across the tops of your thighs. Steve was a gentleman about it though, listened when you spoke, asked you questions and got to know you, making those eyes at you, even if he didn’t realise.

“Did you come in that day just to buy those records?”

Steve snorted, let his cheek turn and press against the headrest so he could look at you with those big brown eyes, wild hair that you ached to brush away.

“I don’t even have a record player anymore.”

Your laugh was a whole other type of song and it warmed Steve more than the summer night did.

“You don’t?” You grinned, nudging a foot into his thigh. “Steve Harrington, you’re a damn fool.”

“If you keep bein’ mean to me,” Steve grinned, voice full of tease and sticky sweet affection, “m’gonna fall in love with you, you know?”

And he did.

—————

You didn’t grudge Robin for the way she rolled her eyes at you upon seeing you walk into Scoops. You couldn’t. She knew, she knew that you knew. So you just smiled.

“Is Steve….?”

“In the back,” she groaned good naturedly. “You’re lucky we’re dead.”

You grinned, blew the girl a kiss and slipped through the staff only door. The door to the walk-in freezer hummed and music came from the break room, quiet and crackling with static from the old radio. You found the boy at the table, feet kicked up on a stool as he played with his empty bottle of soda.

Steve lit up when he saw you, an unexpected visit as you were on a late shift at your own store, the chances of you both getting lunch at the same time slim. But you’d bartered with your boss, promising that all of the new stock that had been delivered would get done before close. He’d rolled his eyes and grudgingly agreed, muttering about your new boyfriend and how he was affecting your work ethic.

You hadn’t used that word yet. ‘Boyfriend.’ And neither had Steve, but that was okay. You were enjoying that inbetween stage that came with uncertainty and butterflies, second guesses and kicking your feet in your bed at night when he dropped you off, each new kiss feeling like another first.

And you were still making the boy blush, the prettiest pink across his cheeks, stealing reasons to touch him whenever you could, playing with the ends of his hair as he spoke, pressing a hand to the skin under his shirt when you wanted his attention.

Which was a waste of time, if you asked Steve - you always had his attention, whether your hands were on him or not. Not that he ever complained.

In fact, he looked downright ecstatic when you dropped yourself in his lap, pleated skirt hitching up your thighs as you grinned down at him, pink cheeks, messy hair and sailor boy uniform to boot.

“Hey, pretty boy.”

“Hello to you too, trouble,” he’d gotten better at that part, talking to you without falling over his own words, more flirt and confidence in his voice than the first time you’d met. “I didn’t think I was gonna see you until after work.”

“Sold my soul for you,” you pouted, lifting his little hat and placing it atop your own head. “Promised that a full delivery would be finished before close.”

Steve tried to pout back, but he couldn’t help but smile at how you bargained just to be able to come see him. The sailor hat was perched adorably on top of your head, a little squint and with a cherry ice cream stain on the side. His hands palmed at your hips, squeezing gently and you lifted a brow to gaze down at him questioningly.

“Robin already isn’t happy I’m back here distracting you,” you smiled, “don’t start something you can’t finish - or win.”

“Win?” Steve scoffed, “sweetheart give me a little cred-”

The boy’s words died in his throat as you stood only to swing a leg over his lap, straddling his thighs with your own, fishnet tights stretched over your skin. You brought your hand to his chin, caught it between finger and thumb and smoothed the pad of it over his bottom lip. You tugged a little meanly, let it fall back with a cute ‘pop’ and grinned at how he was already flushed for you, eyes a little glassy and unfocused, cheeks turning pink.

“You’re too easy, Steve,” you whispered, stretching your arms over his shoulders, fingers tugging through the messy curls at the nape of his neck. You leaned in as if to kiss him, turned before he could catch you and pressed your nose to his cheek instead, letting him feel your smile against his jaw before you mouthed at it.

“You smell so good,” you sighed, voice hitched a little higher than normal, a little breathier. “Could just eat you up.”

“You’re a demon,” Steve huffed, canting his hips up into yours, hands squeezing more tightly at your waist but he did nothing to stop you from tugging at his hair. He let his head fall back, exposing his throat to you and your mouth. “Baby.”

“Baby. Love when you call me that,” you cooed, planting a line of kisses along the column of his neck, nipping at his ear lobe as you pressed yourself against his chest. “Makes me feel so sweet.”

Steve groaned, barked out a laugh that ended in a hiss because you rocked yourself against him, grinding down and grinning. “Yeah? You’re anything but,” he lied.

“Mean,” you teased, bringing your mouth to hover over the boys, lips just grazing his. “You don’t think I’m sweet? That’s not what you said the other night.”

You were pouting, pushing your lips to Steve’s in a barely there kiss before pulling away, running a hand over the front of his hair, pushing it back so you could see the way his eyes glazed over at your words. He knew what you were referencing, of course he did. How could he forget?

“I distinctly remember you telling me that you thought I tasted real sweet in the back of your car,” you grinned, wicked, cupped the boy’s face and smoothed your thumbs over the high points of his cheekbones. “There is it,” you whispered.

A blush, pink and warm and rosy, just for you, even after Steve had spent countless times between you legs, lips sucking, mouth too busy to do anything but moan. He was pink even then. But this? Now?

“I think you’re the sweet one.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington blurb #stranger things fic #stranger things

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dailyadventureprompts · 1 year

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DM Tip: The Trouble With Treasure/ An Alternate Wealth System

If you’re a player or dungeonmaster who’s at all interested in game design you might’ve noticed D&D’s treasure and economy systems suck. You also might have noticed even if you’re not interested in game design, because the longer you play d&d the more it becomes glaringly obvious that the game doesn’t actually HAVE a treasure and economy system despite pretending otherwise. This is a major problem given that seeking riches is one of the default adventuring motivations, and largely stems from the fact that back in ye-olden days gold was directly related to experience points, so wealth accrued exponentially in line with the increasing cost of levelling up. This is why magic items cost to damn much despite being not only a staple of the genre but absolutely necessary to the long-term viability of certain classes (as I discuss here in my post about gear as class features).

After being cut lose however, nothing was really DONE with gold in d&d from a gameplay perspective: Treasure generation largely fell to dm discretion or random tables, and the useful things a party could buy steadily shrunk to the point where characters could be stuck with their starting equipment for an entire campaign. “Too much gold and nothing to spend it on” became one of the major criticisms of d&d 5e, but only touched on the problem that without something worthwhile to spend treasure on the party has less and less reason to venture into the dangerous unknown, take dodgy contracts, or perform any of a half dozen other plot beats that make up traditional adventuring.

The system likewise breaks down once you pass a certain threshold of wealth, or once you try to model larger economic activities: divvying up a lockbox full of dungeon plunder to reequip your heroes before launching out on the next mission works great for the first couple of levels, but completely falls apart when you're dealing common enough story tropes such as running a business, transporting cargo as merchants, or caring for the estates around a castle.

What I propose is splitting d&d’s economy into two halves: Wealth, which represents the piles of GP and other coins the party carries with them, and Resources, more abstract points which chart how plugged in the party is to local systems of production, trade, and patronage.

If you’d like an explanation of how these systems work, and how they can improve your game like they improved mine, I’ll explain both of these mechanics in detail below the cut, as well as subsystems that let your party open businesses, operate estates, build castles, and make a living as merchants.

Wealth: I wanted to limit the amount of money my players kept with them without instituting an encumbrance system that might drag things down. Instead I wanted to rely on a more “common sense” method of tracking wealth, and get them thinking about their stores of gold as a physical object rather than a nebulous point pool they can dip into.

Conveniently, every character starts play with a coin pouch, which can hold up to 300gp (about 6 pounds). I use this as a “soft cap” for how much money a character can be expected to be carrying around with them, not including jewellery or small valuables like gems.

Theoretically a person could have more than one coin pouch, carry their wealth around with them in a chest (15,000gp) or a cartoon sack with a dollar sign on it (1500gp), but this becomes increasingly cumbersome and provides a greater and greater chance that the party will be targeted by thieves. I don’t need to add any more mechanical crunch to this factor, I just inform the party “ hey, you look like you’re carrying a lot of money, better be careful going forward” and plan my encounters accordingly.

Instituting this cap likewise prevents gold from losing all meaning once the party is high enough level to have found their second or third treasure hoard. Sure, they might be living it up in an aristocratic lifestyle back home, but when it comes to set out into the wilderness they suddenly have to think of GP as a resource along with spellslots and hitdie. Getting robbed, forced to give bribes, or simply losing their coin pouch suddenly becomes an actual threat to them regardless of level.

Resources: The party has a pool refereed to as resources, representing their holdings, relationships with patrons, and personal enterprise. The party’s total resources are pooled, and are represented on a scale from 1-50.

Every week, provided they have contract with their economic network, each member of the party party receives earnings equal to 12.5 gp x (the party’s total resources) representing them drawing a living from the connections they’ve already made (working a trade, doing odd jobs, getting payouts from investments)

In order to obtain a new level of wealth, the party must either invest 500gp per point of wealth they which to obtain into a new or ongoing business project (either their own, or that of a trusted contact). Alternatively, the party can get their resource pool boosted by forming agreements with tradesfolk or wealthy patrons, who may grant the party such agreements out of friendship or as part of a reward for doing quests. Resources are recorded with a number beside them, representing how much of the party’s total resource pool they represent. This is so that if something happens to jeopardize that resource, the party knows exactly how much of their earnings are up in the air.

For example, a party that saves a merchant captain from pirates early on in their adventures might be rewarded with a share of her ship’s takings, gaining 1 point of resources. In the future, they may pour some of their adventuring loot into her business, increasing their total amount of holdings with her to 6, and their weekly payout to 75gp. If that captain and her ship were then lost in a storm, those resources would be frozen, halting the party’s payouts and encouraging them to discover just what it was happened to their friend as the base of a new adventurehook.

Buying against Resources: D&D is weird in that it prices magic items, ships and castles like they can be bought off the rack, when in any pre-industrial society most “new” things would have to be constructed from scratch with labours and artisans paid a steady amount over months or years until the thing was complete and then delivering it directly into the hands of the one who commissioned them. Sure a weaponsmith or apothecary would likely have a storeroom full of items to sell to clients walking in off the street, but shipyards aren't spending years churning out galleys to leave them waiting for a buyer like a used car lot.

Because plenty of games involve at least a section where a party might establish a fortress, fix up a ruined estate, or commission a magical artifact, it helps to have a guideline: Find the base price of the item, chop it in half if the party or one of their business contacts can source the resources (or if they’re fixing something that’s broken) Next they need to pay for labour, “reserving” points out of their own resource pool to hire on workers and supplementary materials, divide the item’s price by (500x the number of resource points the party is willing to spend) to find how many months it’ll take for the item to be finished. Note that during this time, the party’s effective resource score is reduced by the amount they’ve reserved. This makes it possible for a mid level party to start refurbishing their dream castle early, rather than having it simply poof into existence once they’re too high level to really get use out of it.

Ongoing Services: Rather than worry about keeping track of hirelings, or a number of other factors, I let my party reserve points off their resource pool indefinitly to retain the services of NPCs. Each “holding” the party has (buisness, ship, estate) likewise requires one resource kept in reservation for general maintenance, unless the party want to take a month off and maintain it themselves.

A party that owned a tavern then might reserve one resource to maintain their establishment , another to pay for the staff, and begin to think about hiring on some guards for a third as something is causing fights to break out more frequently.

Another party which owned a pirate ship, they’d reserve one resource to maintain the ship, another to pay the crew, and a third to bribe the harbormaster who looks the other way when they bring unsanctioned goods into harbor. After hearing about their big score however, their corrupt contact asks for yet another resource worth of bribes, potentially stretching the party’s resources a bit thin.

Using Resources to be a merchant: If pirates come up often in this post it’s because I drove myself half mad several years ago trying to run a skyship campaign, and the logistics of hullspace v supplies v the staggering price of trade goods v market demand drove me up the wall. I lacked a simple system that would let my party FEEL like they were high-risk traders without having to slow the game down with accounting. Here’s my Alternative: there’s a special type of resource called “goods” connected to caravans and trade vessels, which can be expanded like any other. At the end of every month who’s ever in charge of that venture (Player or npc) makes a mercantilism roll ( possibly charisma, possibly wisdom, + some relevant proficiency) for each of those goods based against a DC set by the dm regarding how good trade is doing in that region. If it’s a success, the markets are flowing, and the goods rating goes up by 1. If it’s a failure, they go nowhere, as no profit is made. If they fail by 10 or more, those goods loose one point due to bad investment, and if they succeed by 10 or more, the goods double. When the party receives their payment, they can chose to cash out for 500gp per point of good, possibly then reinvesting in the venture.

#dm tip #dm tips #dm tools #writing advice #Merchant #caravan #pirates #dm advice #the loot overhaul

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anonymoushouseplantfan · 1 year

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The Royal Family’s Apology for their treatment of Meghan Markle:

I’m sorry we spent £32 million on your heavily promoted wedding

I’m sorry The King stepped in to walk you down the aisle

I’m sorry we spent £1 million on your first-year wardrobe

I’m sorry you only undertook 72 days of royal work

I’m sorry we gifted you and your husband the titles of The Duke and Duchess of Sussex, Earl and Countess of Dumbarton and Baron and Baroness Kilkeel

I’m sorry we spent £4 million-a-year on your security

I’m sorry we hid your alarmingly shady past from the public

I’m sorry we covered up your rampant bullying of young professional women and then covered up the results of the bullying investigation in order to protect you

I’m sorry we gifted you an 11-room house on the Windsor estate, for free

I’m sorry we footed the £3.2 million bill to renovate your house to your liking

I’m sorry we granted you the honour of marrying in the historic Royal Chapel at Windsor Castle

I’m sorry we gave you your own independent team of staff

I’m sorry we appointed you your own adviser and assistant to make the transition to royal easier

I’m sorry you were the first girlfriend to be invited to spend Christmas at Sandringham with Queen Elizabeth II and family

I’m sorry The Queen invited you to a theatre charity less than four weeks after marrying H - the earliest ever joint engagement with The Queen

I’m sorry we invited you to the funeral of the longest-serving monarch in British history after you continued to slander everything she ever worked for in multiple interviews and podcasts

I’m sorry we granted you, an American, your own coat of arms from the 500-year-old College of Arms

I’m sorry we didn’t silence you by making you sign any NDAs, allowing you to sign multi-million-dollar deals for books, interviews and podcasts

I’m sorry we’re the reason George Clooney, Oprah Winfrey and Elton John pretended to like you

I’m sorry we gave you the opportunity to co-write a cookbook, guest edit British Vogue, and ‘curate’ your own fashion capsule.

I’m sorry we advised you twice not to wear those blood diamonds gifted by Jamal Khashoggi’s murderer

I’m sorry our support made you feel emboldened to behave appallingly towards staff and ticket-holders at Wimbledon

I’m sorry your behaviour on the Oceania tour angered your hosts and we covered it up by encouraging positive coverage from the press

I’m sorry we invited you to The Queen’s Platinum Jubilee after you’d called us all racist abusers on international television

I’m sorry we thought you’d like to be patron of the UK’s National Theatre, we didn’t realise you’re not interested in the theatre

I’m sorry nobody stopped you from wearing a maternity coat and announcing your 8-week pregnancy at the wedding of your husband’s cousin

I’m sorry you publicly announced your first pregnancy on Infant Loss Awareness Day

I’m sorry we lied to the press about the existence of the nude pictures you took of yourself, easily available on the internet

I’m sorry we let you live free-of-charge in a two-bedroom London property while the free five-bedroom country house we gave you was renovated

I’m sorry we introduced you to world leaders, high-ranking officials and A-list celebrities

I’m sorry we helped perpetuate your lie that your degree was in ‘international relations and theatre’ and not ‘communications’

I’m sorry for all the jewellery we gifted you, including a pair of expensive pearl earrings from Queen Elizabeth II

I’m sorry we helped perpetuate your lie that you worked at the US Embassy in Argentina for several months instead of attending classes at the Embassy school organised by the uncle you didn’t invite to the wedding

I’m sorry we loaned you the use of a historic diamond-encrusted tiara

I’m sorry we took an interest in what colour your future yet-to-be-conceived baby’s hair would be

I’m sorry we permitted you to only allow American press to the unveiling of your first child in Windsor Castle, as requested, instead of British press

I’m sorry we helped cover up that you worked with the authors of Finding Freedom

I’m sorry for allowing you to keep all those freebies you’re definitely not allowed to keep

I’m sorry your husband, a prince, didn’t explain how to courtesy to The Queen

I’m sorry we acquiesced to you inviting celebrities you’d never met before to your wedding

I’m sorry we didn’t clamp down on you monetising your official royal engagements

I’m sorry we respected your boundaries by not hugging on first meeting

I’m sorry we allowed you to mistakenly believe you were more popular than Catherine and William

I’m sorry for providing a team of highly-trained, expensive doctors at your disposal

I’m sorry we funded a household staff of cooks, cleaners and nannies for you

I’m sorry nobody asked if you’re okay.

So sorry about all that.

😂😂😂😂

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dozing-marshmallow · 5 months

Note

I looooooooove the chris x wife! reader fic that you wrote!! It got me kicking my feet and blushing 😊 By any chance, could you write a chris x wife! reader going on their honeymoon?

Awww this is such a cute idea, thank you so much, I’m so happy to hear that you loved the last one! ⋆˙⟡♡ I had to get something out on the man’s birthday as soon as I could and this request was the one I was fixated on finishing the most, so do enjoy reading and McLean’s bday ~💗!

CHRIS MCLEAN X WIFE! READER ON HONEYMOON HEADCANONS

Most newly wed couples go to just one location for their honeymoon.

Yet it was very poor of you to think that standard would apply to Chris.

You didn’t realise until he informed you that you were gonna go to two countries per continent(apart from Antartica, cuz what the hell): Barbados and Costa Rica for North America, Brazil and Colombia for South America, France and Italy for Europe, Thailand and (The) Philippines for Asia, Morocco and Tunisia for Africa, French Polynesia and Australia for Oceania.

The only reason why Chris cut it to two instead of four was because he suspected you would get sick of travelling, and didn’t want you to be complaining on holiday.

“Chriiis, we don’t need to, you know!” you’re verbal about your humble take on the honeymoon as Chris made his long list based on the notes he wrote from his and your opinions,“This is all so costly! We could really go to two continents instead!”

“Huh?” he looks at you, confusion scratching into the space between his eyebrows,“(Y/N), this is literally nothing. You seriously wanna spend our whole two months of celebrating marriage in one place like working class people?”

Harsh, but it’s fine because it’s Chris.

Before you left, he took you on a massive shopping spree where it had not even been the beginning of him pampering you with all the jewellery, the swimsuits and the candies.

This guy doesn’t need to book reservations: the best hotels, air BNBs, holiday homes, you name the one you want to stay at the country and baam. Availability opens a door and charm hands over the keys.

He also hired a chaperone for each country, but most of the time, only for the arrival and departure; he wanted more alone time with you.

At this rate, you wondered if he needed to pay to enter the countries asides from paying the fuel and landing runway.

That’s right. You were getting there by his jet -he ended up upgrading- to each location.

Since it wasn’t meant to carry fifteen contestants this time, Chris abolished the loser and first class section in the new version of his plane to be furnished completely into his headquarters.

During each jet ride, you and Chris would review helpful phrases and attractions that would enhance the experience.

“So in France, we will have to remember to say “bonsoir” from 6 PM onwards.” you reiterate.

“That’s doable.” Chris comments, leaning back in his chair.

“And they don’t like smiling a lot.” you add, doing it yourself.

His relaxation ended,“Bummer. D’you think they can make an exception for me? My resting face is a smile.”

They did- in every place.

The honeymoon was an epoch for Chris to meet his fans from all over the world. If you had a dollar for every autograph he signed the entire getaway, you would have enough money to have your own jet.

Weirdly enough, Chris lost genuine pleasure to greet his global admirers and increasingly rushed the interactions.

“It’s okay to be more attentive to your fans, Chris.” you insist, with your head on his bare body, laying around somewhere on the warm Tunisian beach.

“Nah.” he differs with his hand scrubbing sand on your back,“I came on holiday with you, not them. I couldn’t leave you by yourself.”

Aw. You love your husband,“You’re right. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

He bought you anything that caught your eye. Clothes, hats, rings, ice cream, souvenirs.

Chris had also bought five cameras. He wasn’t letting a single moment of a scenery or pose go to waste.

Be prepared for the day when he eventually gets them all printed out and stuck in fresh albums and wants to reminisce with you.

He took you to the best restaurants, never settling for one less than five stars (maybe four if you persuaded him enough).

“To another exceptional night of our honeymoon!” he raises his glass of happiness.

You copy, both clinking and declaring cheers.

Going back to your accommodation, Chris would have you carried until the first descent onto the fine duvets.

Let’s just say that, by the time you do get back to Canada, both husband and wife’s necks have never been more wine red.

#tdi x reader #td chris #request #chris mclean #total drama #chris mclean x reader #td chris mclean x reader #total drama island chris #total drama chris mclean #tdi #total drama headcanons #total drama scenarios

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saintmeghanmarkle · 15 days

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ELI5 please- their finances by u/ocean_swims

ELI5 please- their finances Why do I keep seeing comments speculating on how broke they are? They're not broke. He is a blood prince, he will never be broke. He inherited from the Queen Mother, The Queen, his own mother, and they're signing deals worth hundreds of millions of dollars. They live in a mansion, they travel all the freaking time, they stay in swanky hotels, she's dressed in tens of thousands in clothing and jewellery. He even still rides horses and plays polo, not looking like he's lost a day of practice. These are not the pursuits of the skint. They're loaded and will always be loaded. And while I understand he's lost money pursuing lawsuits, the only reason they keep going is because they can easily afford to. And I'm sure she accepts freebies from brands but, that's not because she can't afford her own stuff, it's because she's greedy and entitled as a "celebrity".Why is everyone convinced there's no money? They're hustling for more, yes, but I think that's because they're obsessed with wealth and status. It's all just a flex to show they will never stop getting speaking engagements, tv shows, book deals, etc. They never have to worry about money and it's bugging me to see comments acting like they do. It's the rest of us who are living paycheque to paycheque, choosing heat or eat, wondering what to do if we get ill. These grifters are swimming in £££s, unfortunately. Not a single penny of it earned. So, ELI5...what am I missing about their financial situation because the rest of the sub seems convinced they're about to start busking?! 😂 post link: https://ift.tt/DJegirV author: ocean_swims submitted: April 13, 2024 at 03:31PM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit disclaimer: all views + opinions expressed by the author of this post, as well as any comments and reblogs, are solely the author's own; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator of this Tumblr blog. For entertainment only.

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willowfey · 14 days

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when u go through a garage full of boxes, sort and price and stress for a week about the community yard sale, u wake up at 6am after getting barely any sleep, set up a table with homemade dragonfruit coconut milk drinks and iced teas and rice krispy treats and pirates booty bags, bring everything outside and set up and design pretty signs, and decorate a table full of homemade jewellery and wings and flower crowns and felted dolls, and —

not only does No One else on ur street who signed up to participate actually participate, but no one shows up except for a couple people. all day long. and no one even tries the drinks.

and after all that ur in debt bc u made $6 total which isn’t even enough to cover the damn dragonfruit juice

eight hours. six fucking dollars.

and now i gotta CLEAN ALL THIS UP????

#i’m actually so disappointed #and fucking exhausted #sooooooo many people drove past and yet barely anyone stopped #and we were supposed to be done at 2 and now it’s 2:18 and i’m still sitting here just in case #:(#sigh #also the few ppl that looked barely even said hi or acknowledged us

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backup-baby-backup · 10 months

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Lover Is A Breakup Album

So since Joe Alwyn did one (1) vaguely bad thing according to Taylor, it's obvious that every other good thing she's said about Joe has been negated and he is now literally Satan, because that's how relationships work I think. With this in mind, Lover is now obviously a breakup album. This can be seen by looking through the tracks one by one, which paints a compelling picture of her realization of the breakup and coming to terms with it.

The album starts with I Forgot That You Existed, which is obviously about Joe Alwyn. She has forgotten who he is, or at least tries to, perhaps as a response to going through a Cruel Summer with him. She describes him as being "like a devil", showing how Joe is pure evil and how spending a summer together led to "it's blue, the feeling I've got". These two tracks serve as a retrospective of the entire cruel relationship.

We then proceed to Lover, which is actually a masterpiece of irony. The first sentence, "We could leave the Christmas lights up till January", gives the game away, as no normal couple would do such an unhinged thing. Thus the rest of the song is a falsified vision of a marriage, which we know for a fact did not happen and was purely fictional, showing how nobody would think of marrying Joe.

Afterwards, on The Man she claims that the archetypal male is arrogant and brags about "raking in dollars and getting bitches and models". It seems almost certain that she is basing this caricature on Joe here, as he is aggravated by it enough that he engages in combat with Taylor. This is referenced in the song The Archer, a heartbreaking ballad that shows despite Taylor's initial faith in Joe ("you could stay"), this is not reciprocated as they figuratively go to war, and she certainly does not intend to go down without a fight ("combat, I'm ready for combat").

Sensing that Joe has got the message that they're over, Taylor is overjoyed and displays this sense of euphoria in I Think He Knows. "I want you, bless my soul" is a backhanded way of saying that Joe leaving her has blessed her life by cutting off deadweight. Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince further solidifies this thought, explicitly portraying Taylor as the beloved Miss Americana and Joe as someone who will always be known as a heartbreaker. This braggadocio is reinforced on Paper Rings, where Joe is chided for being unable to afford jewellery, and on Cornelia Street, where Taylor shows that she can rent a house in Tribeca and abandon it at the first sign of her lover's disinterest because she's rich. Although this might call for some nuanced discussion of Taylor's materialistic values, we shall ignore this since this is a hit piece on Joe.

Unfortunately, it seems that Taylor starts to have second thoughts. Death By A Thousand Cuts displays her thought process: although she doesn't feel sad immediately after breaking up with Joe, she slowly gets more and more regretful, hence the "thousand cuts". She even goes to London in order to reconnect with him (London Boy), making delusional statements like calling London an enjoyable city. This highly irregular response is clearly a sign that Taylor is not at her clearest here. Luckily, on the way there she comes to her senses, a process which is masterfully (albeit quite heavy-handedly) likened to recovering from an illness in Soon You'll Get Better.

However, since Taylor is in London with Joe anyway, she obliges and spends the night with him even though he is not the one she wants; hence, a False God. The next morning, Taylor communicates her intent to end things for real this time, prompting Joe to fly into a fit of rage. Taylor simply says that You Need To Calm Down and also acknowledges that she is guilty of playing with Joe's emotions like the humble person that she is (Afterglow), but then she finally realizes the glaringly obvious truth: that Joe's emotions don't matter because he is just some irrelevant actor and she is quite literally a global superstar. As an affirmation of her self-worth, she pens ME!.

Finally, after telling Joe that she only sees him as a friend who plays hopscotch and video games who her (It's Nice To Have A Friend), she steps into the Daylight and lets her flop ex-boyfriend go, discovering that she is the only one who matters.

To conclude, I will be rethinking my life decisions if I see any of these stupid "hindsight is 20/20 amirite?????" re-contextualization posts.

#for all intents and purposes this is a joke #taylor swift #lover

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the-fiction-witch · 2 years

Text

The Winn Farm P2

TV SHOW GODLESS X MODERN COWBOY AU COUPLE WHITEY WINN X READER RATING: DARK AF

There was silence, the world still clinging to the darkness as the sunrise was yet to slip over the horizon. The caravan is dark with only the breathing of Whitey and Y/n to break the quiet. Whitey stirred holding Y/n close to him pressing a kiss on her shoulder as he spooned her, He pressed another kiss to her cheek but she didn't move. He sat up being careful as he climbed over her making sure to tuck the covers back around her as he walked into the bathroom quietly closing the door. He used the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror with a grim expression He opened the cupboard the mirror was attached too it opening with a slight creak revealing toothpaste, lotion, medicine, and other such things as well as a small travel bottle of Whiskey. He picked up the bottle-throwing the cap out the small frosted window drinking the whole bottle and then throwing the empty bottle out the window too. He left the bathroom without flushing going and slipping on some jeans and a t-shirt which made Y/n stir

"shhhh shhh shh..." He whispered to her giving her some kisses and tucking her in until she went back to sleep. He gave her one last kiss before going to the door heading out and locking it behind him. He slipped his boots on and headed over to the barn pushing open the weathered old door brushing away some cobwebs as he walked inside getting an old beaten-up motorbike made from various parts of other bikes not a single bit of it the same. He took it off its stand and walked it down the path and out onto the road walking alongside it a fairway until the farm was a good way back, He then got on and started it up heading off down the empty streets.

Whitey arrived at the little town of La Belle with old battered buildings and little houses everywhere, cobblestone streets, and streetlights that hadn't worked in years. He stopped on the edge of town parking his bike before walking in past the closed shops and seeming to tiptoe past the Sherriff's office. Until he reached the building with only one little light on Roy's a pawn shop of sorts with guitars, old Tv's and jewellery all in the window behind bars. He pushed open the door revealing the shop full of various dusty items and a big bin to the side full of half-broken stuff with a sign reading 'For One dollar' and a man sat at a counter flipping through an old comic book, he was chubby with a long grey bread but no hair.

"Morning Whitey"

"Mornin' roy, how's business?"

"Shit. How's things with you?"

"Ohh ya know, bullshit" He sighed coming to lean on the counter

"How's the wife?"

"Fine, excited"

"I bet she is. It's in the back I'll grab it for ya in a sec"

"Cheers"

"Actually Whitey. while you're here?"

"Yeah?"

"I need a word with you"

"Alright, hit me"

roy glanced around nervously "Sheriff's been sniffing around"

"so?"

"so? What do you want me to do about it?"

"Nothing. He can sniff all he want's something else will come up soon and he'll stop worrying about it"

"fine, then what the fuck am I meant to do with-" Roy began but the door opened to an older man struggling to walk, Both Whitey and Roy were silent as the man walked slowly through the shop picking up an old wooden walking stick, he came to the counter sitting it down roy took the mans money and gave him a receipt, and the man took the stick using it to slowly walk back out the shop and down the street. "... What do you want me to do with her?"

"Frankly. I don't give a shit." He says "do what you want with her, Can I have my parcel now?"

"Yeah" roy nodded going to the back room and returning with a large parcel wrapped in brown paper "Not sure why you made me keep it?"

"And where was I meant to hide it? If I had it at home she'd find it" he explained "and I'd really rather her not find it" He says taking the parcel "I'll see you around"

"see ya" He nods

Whitey headed out clutching the package, he walked out seeing other places starting to open as the sun rose, The Sherriff on the office doorstep.

"Hello Whitey"

"Hi Sherriff"

"What ya got there?" He asked coming down to look at the parcel better

"Ohh uhh it's nothing"

"Nothin'? You mind I... take a look?" He asked resting a hand on his gun

"I'd rather you not"

"why is that?"

"It's already wrapped and all, for her birthday"

"Ohh yes of course, ya get her somethin' nice this year?"

"A new dress, and coat. she's been whining about it for months"

"I bet she has, you must bring her into town in her new dress soon, damn girls probably got cabin fever at that farm"

"Yeah I uhh I will"

"Good, well wish her a happy birthday for me?"

"I will" Whitey smiled before heading down to his bike "Jackass" he muttered.

Whitey arrived back to the farm putting his bike back in the barn and going over to the caravan heading inside with the parcel close to him He smiled as he got in noticing Y/n still in bed fast asleep. He put the parcel on the table along with an envelope, He went over slipping his jeans and shirt off crawling back into bed with her moving her a little to lay on her back as he cuddled her. "Good morning" he cooed giving her little kisses

"Ummm?" she hummed barely awake

"Good morning my little flower"

"Good morning" she yawns

"What did you dream about?"

"Unicorns"

"Did you now? that's sweet" He smiled tapping her nose and giving her nose a kiss "Would you like attention this morning?"

"Ummmm... maybe" she giggled blushing hard

"Okay" He smirked giving her a kiss and moving under the covers of their bed...

Once they were all done he got out of bed wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and helping Y/n out of bed as when she put her feet on the floor she almost fell into his arms so he picked her up carrying her to the table sitting her there and going to make her a cup of tea and his own coffee as she opened her card revealing the little white and blue cardboard with a fluffy bunny holding a carrot with a bow on it behind his back as he stood by a bunny with a pink bow in her ears

"awww Whitey" she giggled "Bunnies!"

"I know you darling" He laughs bring her, her cup of tea sitting on the stool sipping his coffee, she read the inside and smiled wider

"Awwww thank you, Whitey, I love you too" she smiled giving him a kiss and putting her car up on the windowsill beside some bottles, "I'd like my thousand kisses now" she giggled

"They are to be paid in instalments" He laughs getting up and sitting beside her giving her a few kisses "Go on open your present"

"Yay!" she giggled carefully opening the parcel making sure not to rip the paper revealing a beautiful purple dress with black spots and hundreds of black petticoats, and a large white fur coat "Whitey! there beautiful!" she smiled jumping upholding her dress to her body doing a little spin then Whitey smiled getting up and putting the coat around her shoulders as she stood looking in the mirror "You shouldn't it's much too expensive"

"You let me worry about that. I'm allowed to spoil ya today"

"You always spoil me"

"Well, you deserve it" He smiled giving her cheek a kiss "You wanna wear your new pretty dress today?"

"Pretty please"

"Of course, go on," He told her and she ran off to the bathroom,

Whitey got dressed and headed outside to feed the chickens and the rabbits for a while until the caravan door opened revealing Y/n in the purple dress and black petticoats, black stockings, and little purple flat shoes, her hair done and a red lipstick perfectly on her, Whitey stopped short seeing her smiling widely a tear in his eye as he looked at her smiling in the doorway

"How does it look?" she asked fiddling with the skirt

"You... look more beautiful than I have ever seen you" He smiled opening his arms and she jumped down running into his arms, he picked her up and spun her pretty dress and petticoats above the farm's dirt

"Then ever?" she asks

"second only to our wedding my little flower" He smiled giving her a sweet kiss "How do you feel?"

".... Beautiful" she answered

"I'm happy to hear that" He smiled giving her head a kiss as he put her down on the ground "it's been so long since I've seen you smile like that"

"It's been a long time since I've felt like this"

"Then that's good, you're getting better" He cooed "Happy birthday my little flower"

"thank you Whitey," she smiled holding him close "Whitey?"

"Yes Y/n?"

"How long will you love me?"

"Till the sunburns out." He told her "Go on go take care of your bunnies I'll take care of everything else today" He smiled pushing her along to the rabbit pens.

Whitey sat on the small cinder blocks that marked the stairs of the caravan sipping his silver flask as he watched the sun setting across the farm, "Whitey?" Y/n called from within

"Yes Y/n?" he called back

"How do I look?" she asks

he turned back and saw her there in the doorway in a pair of little white pumps, black stockings and petticoats, a sweet white dress with black spots, her hair in little ribbons, her new fur coat in her hand. He smiled widely and gave her a kiss "You look beautiful my little flower. little monochrome flower" he cooed giving her a cuddle "Shall we Mi Lady?"

"We shall" she giggled taking his arm and he lead her across to the barn pushing it open and revealing the old bike as well as a half rusted pick up truck, he opened the door for her and helped her to climb inside giving her a slap on the butt as she climbed in "whitey" she giggled

"you can't blame me, my little flower" He smirked shutting the door and going and climbing into the driver's seat, "Off we go" He smiled as he started it up and headed off put the farm and down the broken empty streets, they drove down the sunset roads in silence whitey visibly became stiff and nervous tapping the wheel as he drove, He pulled over in front of an old half-burnt house. He didn't move, but she did. she climbed out of the truck and heading down the little path towards this tall wooden house, the wood broken, burnt, ashy, the windows broken, panels over the windows and doors still battered in with half-broken nails, Y/n walked onto the porch and sat there patiently, Whitey barley moved glaring at the house as if haunted by it.

'HELP!' The voices screamed almost as if the memory of that day was inescapable as if the half brunt house was flickering, flickering in and out of the flames that took the house. 'HELP US! PLEASE! WE'RE SORRY PLEASE!' whitey shook his head physically shaking off the memories of that night until Y/n returned to the truck

"Hello"

"Hi, you ready to go little flower?"

"I'm ready" she smiled leaning on his shoulder

"Alright then, come on then. else we'll be late for our dinner" he smiled giving her a gentle kiss

Once they reached the next town over they parked up and whitey climbed out the truck going to open the door for y/n to help her out "Mi lady"

"Thank you sir" she smiled coming down with him, they walked hand in hand to the small restaurant it wasn't a fancy place or anything but they sat in the corner and ordered fries, popets, and other baskets of little foods. the two smiled and laughed as they ate and shared milkshakes,

"Happy my little flower?"

"very happy" she smiled "I love you"

"I love you too" he smiled giving her a kiss from across the table, they continued on with their dinner until suddenly Y/n's smile dropped "what's wrong?" he asks as he had a fry

"it's nothing" she answered pushing her food away

"what's wrong? come on you love chicken pops"

"I know, i- I'm just not hungry anymore"

"y/n. What's the matter?"

she glanced over to another table in the restaurant so whitey looked over seeing a gaggle of young girls in small dresses, they each had one milkshake and they were looking at y/n giggling and pushing their noses to make them look like the noses of piglets clearly moking y/n and the food in front of her

"did you want to go?" whitey asked her and she nodded, he paid and took her outside to the truck but by the time they got there tears were flooding down her cheeks "you stay here I'll go sort some things okay?" she didn't answer but he shut the truck up and headed back to the restaurant he waited there for a while until the girls left. When they did he followed them. though listening he found out they were in fact moking y/n and found the one of the three who began it. He followed her as the girls separated staying at a distance but still always staying close, she turned down a small alley so whitey followed her down there getting closer and closer before grabbing her hair

"Owww what the hell!" she complained before she turned "... Oh. your the guy on the date with the piggy girl. What did you want my number or something?" she smirked

"no. I don't" he answered grabbing her hair again pulling it hard "I'm going to teach to a lesson" He growled grabbing a knife from his pocket and within seconds he scalped her and left her for dead in the alley "You will not. upset my y/n" he hurried back to the truck throwing the knife in the back as well as his shirt as he now had blood, grabbing a spare shirt from the back of the truck, he snuck off again and popped into a small toy shop that was about to close. the staff weren't too pleased but accepted the business, he grabbed a soft plush bunny and paid for it and returned to the truck "Hello my little flower"

"Hello whitey" she nodded wiping her dry tears away

"I got you an extra birthday present, you cheer you up" he smiled handing over the plush bunny

"thank you whitey" she smiled hugging him closely "I love you so much, I don't wanna go anywhere, I just wanna stay home with you"

"If your sure little flower, I love you too. come on you give your little plushie a hug and I'll drive us back home"

"Okay" she smiled hugging her plush and nuzzling on his shoulder as they drove off.

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doors-to-infinity · 1 year

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Wells. Wells is now the name of my OC mentioned here.

Since we’re going from puns, hers is based on wishing wells. No first name except for an initial. She doesn’t remember any more from her life. Probably because everybody in the job she used to be always called her by her surname, and she connected success with that.

I associate coins with Wells because people make wishes by throwing coins into wells and fountains. Maybe her focus isn’t a briefcase, but an older / rare dollar. The American Silver Eagle? (A memento? Lucky charm?) One of her habits is flipping the coin. (Try to) Steal it at your own risk.

Wells stills ‘sells’ things because that’s how she climbed the company ladder. That’s how she felt powerful. She already used to twist other people’s words when she was alive, forcing ‘deals’ on people by talking over them. Until she could coerce them into doing what she wanted like signing a contract or paying for one of her items.

Her methods have shifted in the sense that she uses supernatural means and doesn’t rely on people on doing anything except for saying “I wish”. She’s still a predator who likes messing with her victims and taking advantage of them.

She also sells things in the mundane way because she wants money. Wells could rob banks or overshadow people but that’s no fun to her. Again, she likes to take advantage of them, and this is her preferred way of doing it.

If it’s within the boundaries of how Wells can twist a wish, she makes her victims give up on monetary valuable things in “exchange for satisfaction”.

Maybe she also has some powers over water because of the association to wells and fountains. More associations come to me the more I think about it.

Swimming in riches = what she dreamed / dreams of. Struck by random inspiration, she once gathered a pile of all of her jewellery, dumped them into her tub, and went intangible. Not yet satisfied, she let her body shift to water / water-adjacant form of ectoplasm. The jewellery is still in the tub.

Talking like a waterfall = she talks fast and a lot to obfuscate what she’s doing and to confuse people.

Wishing you well! = A catchphrase of hers.

Swimming with the fishes = Ruthless in life as in death, she sabotaged many of her competing colleagues. Not killed unlike the main association with this saying but rather making them leave the company in disgrace and / or in trouble. This one connects to the idea that she saw herself as the ‘Big Fish’ / the Predator in the Pond (the company) and sent others weaker than her swimming off.

Big fish in a little pond = Wells thought of herself in that way, only that she in the bigger world, there were people more powerful than her. She was more an slightly bigger fish in an average pond. (And still is in Amity.)

Sinking money = Both in that she hoarded money and that she splurged on things in the same measure.

Wishing wells = What her powers do, only that she twists those wishes.

Wells uses forceful water attacks because the way she manipulates others is neither subtle nor small. She can also throw a physical punch.

One of her favorite ways to appear is to manifest out of fountains.

#danny phantom oc #Danny Phantom

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melbourne-customs-broker · 3 months

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UK FREE TRADE AGREEMENT WITH AUSTRALIA

The Australian Government welcomes the announcement that Royal Assent has been given to legislation to bring the Australia-United Kingdom Free Trade Agreement into effect in the UK.

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customsbrokerperth · 3 months

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UK FREE TRADE AGREEMENT WITH AUSTRALIA

The Australian Government welcomes the announcement that Royal Assent has been given to legislation to bring the Australia-United Kingdom Free Trade Agreement into effect in the UK.

In addition, it will see Australian professionals gain access to the UK jobs market on par with EU nationals, with more opportunities for intra-company transfers and for working holiday makers.

The Australia-UK FTA will enter into force after UK processes are complete and Australia and the UK exchange diplomatic notes identifying a commencement date.

Customs services offered by 365 Freight & Customs Brokers include:

Customs and Quarantine Clearance Quarantine procedures

laws & legislation

Export Declaration

Tobacco Imports

Alcohol Imports

Gold & Precious Metal Imports

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Port Congestion

Seizure of Goods

Destruction of Goods

INFRINGEMENT NOTICES

Dumping Duty

By-Laws

Landed Costing Tariff Advices and Concessions

Duty Drawbacks & Refunds

Tariff Consultancy & Audits Tariff Concession Order System Customs Tariff Classification

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customsbrokerbrisbane · 3 months

Text

UK FREE TRADE AGREEMENT WITH AUSTRALIA

The Australian Government welcomes the announcement that Royal Assent has been given to legislation to bring the Australia-United Kingdom Free Trade Agreement into effect in the UK.

In addition, it will see Australian professionals gain access to the UK jobs market on par with EU nationals, with more opportunities for intra-company transfers and for working holiday makers.

The Australia-UK FTA will enter into force after UK processes are complete and Australia and the UK exchange diplomatic notes identifying a commencement date.

Customs services offered by 365 Freight & Customs Brokers include:

Customs and Quarantine Clearance Quarantine procedures

laws & legislation

Export Declaration

Tobacco Imports

Alcohol Imports

Gold & Precious Metal Imports

Gems * Jewellery Imports

Vehicle Imports

Port Congestion

Seizure of Goods

Destruction of Goods

INFRINGEMENT NOTICES

Dumping Duty

By-Laws

Landed Costing Tariff Advices and Concessions

Duty Drawbacks & Refunds

Tariff Consultancy & Audits Tariff Concession Order System Customs Tariff Classification

Free Trade Agreements

TRADEX Anti-Dumping and Countervailing duties

Import Restrictions and Prohibitions

Temporary Imports

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sydney-customs-broker · 3 months

Text

UK FREE TRADE AGREEMENT WITH AUSTRALIA

The Australian Government welcomes the announcement that Royal Assent has been given to legislation to bring the Australia-United Kingdom Free Trade Agreement into effect in the UK.

In addition, it will see Australian professionals gain access to the UK jobs market on par with EU nationals, with more opportunities for intra-company transfers and for working holiday makers.

The Australia-UK FTA will enter into force after UK processes are complete and Australia and the UK exchange diplomatic notes identifying a commencement date.

Customs services offered by 365 Freight & Customs Brokers include:

Customs and Quarantine Clearance Quarantine procedures

laws & legislation

Export Declaration

Tobacco Imports

Alcohol Imports

Gold & Precious Metal Imports

Gems * Jewellery Imports

Vehicle Imports

Port Congestion

Seizure of Goods

Destruction of Goods

INFRINGEMENT NOTICES

Dumping Duty

By-Laws

Landed Costing Tariff Advices and Concessions

Duty Drawbacks & Refunds

Tariff Consultancy & Audits Tariff Concession Order System Customs Tariff Classification

Free Trade Agreements

TRADEX Anti-Dumping and Countervailing duties

Import Restrictions and Prohibitions

Temporary Imports

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nishantsharma-cicero · 9 months

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Make “ugly” art. But make it.

These days everyone is running on a metaphorical treadmill. This is the treadmill of work. People work to have upward mobility in their lives. They want a bigger fridge, a bigger car, a bigger home and so on.

And so, to pay off the EMIs and credit-card bills, people must work extra hard. I am in the profession of teaching. I know some teachers around me teach for 4 hours at home, after they have taught for 7 hours at school. And they do this every-day.

To be honest, this seems insane to me! But when I talk to them, a reason emerges. And the reason why they work for 12 hours every day is this- They want the latest “STUFF.” And it is not only the teachers, but bank employees, and photographers, and restaurant-owners, and charted accountants too. Everyone wants the latest “STUFF”.

They might try to obfuscate their justifications in myriad ways of complicated words. They’d say, “I have to pay off my child’s piano class”, “I have to pay off the latest SUV I purchased”, “I am saving for my destination-wedding”, “I want to send my kids to England”, “I want to but new jewellery”.

But underneath all these statements, there is a clear affirmation to a basic axiom- “Consumerism is good. And I will run the metaphorical treadmill of consumerism.”

Now I want to make it clear that not everyone in the world who works 100 hours a week, is a rat-on-the-treadmill with dollar-signs in their eyes. There are people, very noble people in the world, who sleep in their offices, but they are driven, unlike the “rat” kind, by excellence, and NOT dollar signs. Bill Gates, Elon Musk, Naval Ravikant are some of the people who come to the mind.

For most people who are working mindlessly- like a zombie- to pay off the latest flip-phone, I feel sad. These people are always tired, always exhausted. They never come to the office parties. They never talk nicely to you. In their minds, there is a voice which is yelling at them “You are lagging. You have tasks to accomplish!”

These people are working, not for the noble ambition of transforming the world by serving one client at a time. They are not driven by any divine feeling, “God has bestowed this noble work of fixing the cars, and I will do it like worship.”

Rather, they are always working to outrun their credit-card bills. They are always working to catch-up to the commercial-airliner ticket price.

So, what can we do? Well, as Walt Whitman, the great prophet said, “let me wash the gum from your eyes,” allow me to say that these people need religion in their lives.

Even a drop of religion- oh Hail Mary, oh Kingdom of Heaven, oh I am in the image of the Lord- even a mite of these ideas is powerful enough to transform their lives.

These people- who are in their Benzes and Audis- but with the spirit of a wanting rat, will see how impoverished they are!

Unless we feel truly in the bosoms that we ARE in the image of the God (whoever God you worship), and that we are here for a loftier purpose than just to serve our bones and flesh, we will feel like rats.

We must realize that even a car-park full of 27 luxury sedans and a passport full of Western-European stamps will not be able to FULFILL us if we are do not have a HIGHER GOAL in life.

As William Blake said,

To see a World in a Grain of Sand And a Heaven in a Wildflower Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand And Eternity in an hour

Yes, dear readers, give some space to the almighty in your hearts, and like a nectar-drop it will sweeten your lives. Even a rugged sofa which you curse, will seem like a Golden Throne when you have the Lord’s name on your lips.

When I say “Lord”, I mean any God whom you truly and wholeheartedly have faith in.

And now to my final point. Creativity is utmost important in life. When we create something- a simple crayon art, a piece of music, a song, a cartoon design- God (the Creator par excellence) smiles through that work.

I know we are all busy people. We do not have time. There are books to read, and exams to write, and clients to serve. I understand that. But still, do art.

Even a bad-ART, an ugly-ART is better- miles better than nothing. When we put the pencil to paper, we are aligning ourselves to the God’s nature. God too created the world from nothing. And he created it so magnificently.

When we put the pencil to paper, when we drag the oil-pastel on a canvas, when we strum a guitar (even in a horrible way), we are at the very least, acknowledging a fact. And this fact is- since we are in the image of the Lord, we too have an intrinsic need for beauty and creativity.

And so, the happy child sings tunelessly all day long. The broken-toothed girl puts glitters on her ivory sheet. The pimpled eighth grader pastes cardboard to thermocol for a Geography project.

Dear reader, be mindful of how you wish to live life. Welcome the LORD to your hearts and let him make it his royal throne. And do art. In this way, you truly will live life as if you were made in the image of God. Make “ugly” art. But make it. Thank You.

Nishant Sharma 30th July, 2023

#education #literature #writing #art #creativity

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